


From The Tongue Of A Hero

by Awwjeezitsamy



Series: Collecting Dust [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Brotherly Love, Brothers, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Johnlock Fluff, Letters, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV Third Person, True Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awwjeezitsamy/pseuds/Awwjeezitsamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John Watson is kissing you."</p><p>Sherlock came home, pissed off and angry, but things soon settled when he shared his first kiss with John. It was from no where, it didn't make sense but Sherlock loved it all the same.</p><p>He didn't realised how much things could change in 24 hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Tongue Of A Hero

**Author's Note:**

> The east wind is coming...

For the first time in his life Sherlock was happy: uncontrollably, unbelievably happy. Thoughts spread through his mind like wild fire, albeit none were even remotely comprehensible, but he knew he was thinking something, it was definitely real. Suddenly he was brought back to earth with a realisation.

_John Watson is kissing you..._

He found himself over come by joy, more so than he thought possible. But he had to address the bigger picture now: His best friend, John Watson -whom he had been in love with for six years now- kissed him, just in that moment, for the very first time.

To Sherlock's hazy disappointment, John pulled away and looked into his eyes.

"Sherlock, I-" John broke off as his voice caught "I'm sorry." he finished. John's face began to drop as Sherlock's silence extended into the next few minutes "Say something." They stood, nose to nose. The truth was, Sherlock was far too elated to even form a sentence, so he kissed him, feather lightly, just so John knew.

"Oh." John's tone was laced with dark surprise "So you, um-"

"Yes." Sherlock interrupted "I rather find myself on cloud nine right about now." John stared back at him, bewildered, so he continued "I shan't deceive you, kissing you is something I have been willing myself not to do for some time now.

John stepped back, his eyes darted over Sherlock's face, as if he was searching for signs of sarcasm. "You... Wanted to kiss... Me?" He managed.

"Yes, I did, quite badly actually."

For an instant they stood face-to-face, just looking, before John pressed forward into a kiss, with more urgency, almost as if he was running out of time. He pulled at Sherlock collar and pushed on to him harder like an over excited child. When they eventually broke apart John's face was overcome with glee, Sherlock found it utterly captivating.

"I have needed to do that for so long now." John said as if the words couldn't be said quick enough, it melted Sherlock's heart and for a brief second he could not find the right words to say.

"I have too." He said eventually. "Are you going to surprise me like this every time I come home in a foul mood? If so, I may do it more often.

John was silent for a moment, a silence that made Sherlock feel uneasy, but he brushed it off as heightened emotion. "Hmm." He hushed, dreamily.

Sherlock wanted to tell him how he felt now, but he was scared, that the feeling would not be reciprocated. He still wasn't entirely sure of what the kiss meant, to ruin it now would be to ruin everything. So he kept quiet, locking up those precious words. They spent the evening in each other's embrace. John clung on to him tightly as if it was his last night on earth. The kissed and talked and just remained, in each other's lives, as if the rest of the world no longer mattered to them. Once John had drifted off, Sherlock watched him intently. He was curled up against his chest, his hair ticking at his neck when he squirmed. Sherlock couldn't quite believe the day he had, it wasn't spectacular or incredible it was just right.

Sherlock has came home, unhappy that a case that Lestrade lines up was nowhere near the intellectual indulgence he had been hoping for. But when he slammed open the door to 221B, he was greeted by John, springing towards him, a smile plastered across his face.

"John, I'm not in the mood right now, can you-" He was cut off.

John clasped his hands either side of Sherlock's head and smashed their lips together desperately. They stood for what must have been minutes but felt like seconds, pulling and gripping each other, locked together.

That one small act by John changed Sherlock's life and turned it upside down. The pain Sherlock felt, for years, thinking nothing would ever happen, it was unimaginable... But now, everything was different.

They woke, still holding each other.

"Morning."John said, rubbing his eyes, his raspy tone and glowing smile pulled at Sherlock's abdomen.

"Good morning." Sherlock grinned back. He leaned in and pressed their lips together, just for a second and John melted into him.

"I love this." He said, the sleep in his voice was still thick.

"As do I... Can we stay like this for the day?"

"No, Mycroft is expecting you, remember?" He paused as Sherlock huffed "Come on grumpy." John heaved at Sherlock's arm.

Oh, why must you subject me to my brother? A man who I would only voluntarily call if I was dying. You know I hate family gatherings." Sherlock wined.

"Get up and lets get breakfast, we need to savour every moment together if you're going to make it through today.

Sherlock forced himself up from the bed where they had fallen asleep, he never took his eyes off John as he pulled on a pink pastel shirt and black trousers. Eventually they made it up and shuffled into the kitchen. John's smile never left his face, which usually meant he was keeping something from Sherlock, but today was different, today his smile was beautiful and meant everything was perfect. Sherlock watched John lather on at least half a jar of jam on to his toast.

"Sweet tooth?" Sherlock joked "Don't you think that's quite enough?"

John mock-frowned but couldn't hold it for very long, he beamed again "Sorry, Mum! What's the harm? I am happy aren't I? So I shall surround myself with things that make me happy, and thus far that is you." He paused and turned back to his toast with a grin "And jam." He looked overly proud of himself, but Sherlock enjoyed it all the same.

Well, do save some for the rest of the world, at the rate you're going there will be a nation wide shortage. Mrs Hudson will not be best pleased." 

"I had better start saying my goodbyes now then." John laughed, shoving an overly-jammy slice of bread in his smiling mouth.

"Oh god." Sherlock said, glancing at his watch "I have to go. Why must Mummy's birthday be today?" He whined.

"Oh I love birthdays. The presents, the balloons, the cake..." John trailed off.

"Yes, well we are going to play croquet at my Uncle's knew house. Mycroft always cheats and Mummy never catches him."

"I am sure you will live if he does. Off with you now. And don't tell Mrs Hudson about the strawberry jam fiasco." Sherlock threw his coat over his shoulders and curled John up in a hug, he hugged back tightly and relentlessly.

"John, I-"  _Don't say it, he might not feel the same way_   "I'm so glad I have you now."

"Mmm" John said mindlessly, not wasting a second of holding him. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

Sherlock left with a small skip in his heart, he couldn't believe that his dream had come true, he knew people said it all the time,  but to experience it was something that no words could ever compare to. John Watson: the man he had wanted for so long, was his. Sherlock spent the entire day going over every beautiful detail that he adored about John.

He was adorable, which wasn't a word that Sherlock often found himself using, but it was true, he was adorable in every way. They had been called to a crime scene once and needed to talk to a young girl, but she cried when Sherlock tried to talk to her, but not John, he sat with her and spoke softly, while he played with the building blocks on the floor. Just seeing John, so natural in his childish state and yet so serious about his work melted Sherlock's heart.

He was brave. Not only has John saved the lives of those he doesn't know, but he has saved Sherlock's life, so many times and in so many ways.

He was averagely intelligent, which wasn't usually a quality that he admired. For most people it meant that they didn't understand Sherlock when he talked, so they just resorted to insulting him. But John was different, it meant he was pleased by simple things: a blue sky, a card from his sister, a good song, it all made him seem so innocent. Sherlock was warmed by this, he often worried about John, after what he had been through and what he had seen, but the fact he remained so happy, which is all Sherlock really wanted.

One final thought enter Sherlock's head as he stepped out of the taxi outside his home:

_John Watson is the greatest man you have ever known, so why on earth doesn't he know that you love him?_

It was around ten at night, the street was dark and cold, as he approached the door to 221B he was struck-dumb by an overwhelming feeling. He couldn't explain what it was, but he knew something was wrong, his eyes darted round the door frame in search of signs of a break in, but he saw nothing.

_What is it?_

He ran up the stairs and through the door, his breath quickening with every step. As he swung open the door he looked for what had happened. His eyes eventually settled on John, fast asleep on the sofa, relief swept over him and he felt every muscle in his body relax.

Sherlock took a moment to just look, John was curled up in the foetal position, his hand just covering his face. He looked so peaceful that Sherlock didn't want to disturb him. He decided to let John sleep why he took a shower, once he was done he would tell John he loved him. It was time.

 _You can do it._ Sherlock repeated as he made his way down the stairs.  _You need to know if he loves you too._

John hadn't moved an inch since Sherlock had left to take a shower about half an hour ago. His shirt had ridden up at his hip slightly, Sherlock placed his hand down lightly to wake him. His skin was cold. A deathly cold that made his body freeze in though. Sherlock had felt this cold before, but... This wasn't right... John wasn't cold, he was warm and kind, and... Alive.

Sherlock moved John's hand and what he saw wrenched at his chest: John's eyes were open, not looking back at him, but staring through him absently.

Sherlock knew... He didn't believe it, he wouldn't believe it... But he knew.

"John." His words were fragile. "John please wake up." He pleaded.

...Nothing... 

Sherlock braced himself for the icy touch of John's skin as he pressed his fingers in search of a pulse, he held them there: hoping, waiting.

...Nothing...

"Not you, John, wake up." He shook John with urgency and panic, his hand rolled out and something dropped to the floor. Sherlock didn't look, not yet.

"You know I hate jokes, John, so wake up... Please... For me." Sherlock's voice cracked with desperation.

His eyes lowered slowly to the floor and he saw it, the glass pill bottle that had fallen from John's hand, empty.

"No." Sherlock whispered repeatedly. He was no longer in control of what he was saying "You can't be d-" He froze. He couldn't say it, if he said it that meant it was true. "Not you... Not now... We've only just... I love you, you didn't let me tell you. Wake up so I can tell you, please."

Sherlock looked a John, he tried so hard not to see everything, but he did:

_No bodily harm..._

_No signs of intoxication..._

_No one else has been in the flat..._

_Empty pill bottle..._

_Bottle left open..._

_He's laying in the position he finds most comfortable..._

He could draw one conclusion, and he hated it...

... _Self administered_...

... Suicide.

"Why? I don't understand, John... Help me understand." His words trailed off as he saw the paper tucked in the pocket of his shirt. "Did you want me to read this John?" Sherlock asked, still lifelessly hoping for a response. 

Slowly, he unfolded the crumpled pages. Just seeing John's handwriting made his blood run cold. As Sherlock read he could almost hear John saying the words he had written:

" _Sherlock,_

_I'm sorry. It's the only thing I can say to start a letter that marks the beginning of my end._

_I'm sorry I lied._

_I'm sorry I kissed you and then left you._

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you._

_I'm just sorry._

_But it's all over now, you're safe, I did it all for you. So don't cry over me, just live, because I was all for you. But, Sherlock, I need you to read this, you need to know why I had to do this._

_It was Moriarty. I know just the thought of him makes your skin crawl, but you must keep reading._

_Six months ago, when he broadcast his face over the nation's TV screens you thought it was his way of getting to you, but after all this time you assumed nothing would come of it._

_But something did, I couldn't tell you, I was too scared that something would happen to you if I did._

_He wrote to me and told me that he wanted to end you, by any means._

_He said he wanted to kill you, I ignored it for as long as I could but in the end I had to give in and reply. I told him I would go to the ends of the earth to protect you. But it only_ _fuelled his fire. He told me that you didn't have to die for him to kill you, he just had to take all that you lived for._

_I was stupid, I thought he meant the work, you were married to your work, but that wasn't it. He said there was one thing you treasured more than anything He said there was one thing you treasured more than anything in the world. Then he left, he watched me dance while I tried to find what he meant. But I couldn't work it out. It was over a month before he wrote me again, he told me it was me. I was confused to start with, I couldn't understand how I meant so much to you, when I had lived with you for so long and you had said nothing. But none of that mattered, for a while I was being blind to the truth but I knew what had to happen._

_I had to die._

_Just like you did, except this time it was for real. He said that you would die if I didn't._

_So I was selfish, I am making you live without me because I couldn't bare the thought of living in a world that you weren't in._

_I_ _am so sorry, I didn't want to go, I didn't want to leave you, but it was the only way._

_Do you remember what I said when I was at your grave? I know you heard, but did you listen? I was so alone: both before I met you and after I thought I lost you. You gave me so much more than you could ever imagine, so that's why I owed you more than is measurable in my heart or mind. And there was only one thing I could give that would go some small way to showing you just how much you meant to me... My life._

_It_ _took for me to give up my life so you could be safe, I would do it a thousand times over just so I knew you would be OK._

 _I_ _want you to know, I love you. More than you will ever know. The one thing that made me think twice about doing this was not knowing if you loved me too, and now I never will know, but please remember, I love you, and this was all for you._

_Do not feel guilty, only be happy._

_You are safe, so enjoy your life._

_No tears, this isn't a trick._

_I have given all I can, for you, so enjoy it._

_Remember me, Sherlock, our game is not over, the game is never over, you just have to play alone for a while._

_To the very best of times,_

_-John Hamish Watson."_

Sherlock tried to breathe, but there was no air left. His stomach knotted, his heart jolted, he didn't move.

He couldn't think, he looked up cautiously to see John's eyes, still open and frozen in time. Slowly Sherlock placed his hand on his eyelids, savouring the last few seconds he would have of John's eyes. He closed them for the very last time, and once again he looked like he was sleeping.

There was only one thing he could do. He reached for his phone, his movements were unsteady and trembling. There was only one person to call, the one man who he would only call if he was dying. I took him an age to dial out the numbers. The tone rang on for what seemed like hours.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft was confused and too loud. "Sherlock, it's 2 am, what is the matter?"

It was time, time to admit it to himself and the world, he took his time and tried to ready himself.

"He's dead." The line went silent, Mycroft knew, they both did. The silence stretched over a few minutes before Mycroft spoke again:

"I'll be there soon."

Sherlock didn't know why he was so quiet, but when he arrived, no one spoke. He walked in followed by two men in black suits. Sherlock knew what they had to do, but he couldn't watch them touch his John. He handed Mycroft the note, and beckoned him to read it, his face unfolded with shock and horror.

But still no one spoke.

Mycroft stood in the kitchen, facing the sofa, his hand joined together respectfully, he retained his military composure as the men pronounced John. Sherlock knew that it was what John deserved, he had to do as his brother did. Slowly he turned and stood with Mycroft silently.

He watched the men check his pulse, just as he had done, he held his breath, hoping that they'd tell him that he'd made a terrible mistake... But they didn't.

"M-Mycroft." Sherlock said, his voice was barely a whisper "Can I say goodbye?"

Mycroft didn't speak, he just nodded to the two men who got up and stood outside the flat.

Sherlock knelt in front of John's body, he was on his back, arms by his side, like every cadaver he had ever seen, he hated it. John wasn't a body, he was a man: a beautiful, incredible, wonderful man. This wasn't right.

"John, I'm sorry." His voice caught and scraped out "I came back, for you, I gave you your miracle, will I get mine? Don't be dead, John, please." He was broken now, the words just wouldn't come. So he did the only thing left to do, he leaned in a pressed a kiss on John's icy lips, he pulled back immediately and stood with his brother once again.

Mycroft nodded to the men who came back swiftly. Sherlock watched them, moving him on the stretcher, pulling a black sheet over him. They carried him out silently, and 221B seemed infinitely empty. Everywhere was quiet, maddeningly quiet.

"Sherlock." Mycroft said softly, and that was all it took to break Sherlock's composure, he fell to the floor helplessly. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock knew not what happened then, but he was enveloped by his brothers arms, and he felt there thirty year barriers melt away and he hugged back tightly.

"I loved him."

"I know, I know." Mycroft said, his tone was hushed and soft "He loved you too.

Sherlock fought back his tears with all he had, John didn't want tears "How can he be gone, Mycroft? Yesterday he kissed me, and today he's gone it isn't right."

"Listen to me, when we had to go through with Lazarus, I watched John, I saw how he grew from losing you, it was painful for him, and it will be for you. But you know why he did it, it was all for you, Sherlock. You cannot let this ruin you, if you do it means Moriarty wins and John died for nothing." Mycroft spoke slowly, clasping Sherlock within his arms still.

"I can't live without him."

"You can, and you will. You are not alone in this, you are my brother and I will not leave you until you can live again."

Just with that Sherlock couldn't do it any more, he couldn't hold. One tear fell and then they began to stream. He cried uncontrollably into his brother's chest, Mycroft held him closer.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock uttered through his painful cries.

"You are allowed to cry, Sherlock. All John wants is for you to be safe and happy, cry if you need to, please."

Sherlock knew Mycroft was right, so he cried. He cried until his stomach was numb with pain and his cheeks were swollen and sore. They sat together, on the floor of 221B and Sherlock sobbed into the embrace, they didn't move for hours. They talked, about John, about him, he choked on his cries but had made it to the morning. Between them, he could get through this.

"Drink this." Mycroft said, handing him a piping hot mug. The morning sun had just begun to streak through the windows "It's five-thirty."

"Thank you." They sat for a moment, in silence.

"The funeral will be tomorrow, everything has been taken care of how John wanted it. He will receive full military honours, which he didn't ask for, but fully deserves." Mycroft paused, considering his next words "Do you want to say something?"

"It isn't my place." No matter how much he wanted it to be.

"Yes it is. Harriet Watson has been informed and she asked if you would."

Sherlock realised then that Mycroft hadn't been lying, he really would stick with him to the end. "Yes, I want to. But what do I say?" His voice was weak.

"You know, Sherlock, you know what you want to say, don't worry about what people might think or say, this is your chance."

Over the next twenty-four hours Sherlock did nothing but think. Mycroft was constantly on his phone, he had single handedly organised John's funeral and made sure all who need to be told, were told. But he never left Sherlock, not for one second. He stayed with him while he told Mrs Hudson:

"Oh Sherlock." She had cried "I am so sorry."

Sherlock didn't understand it, he hand hundreds of calls and texts saying sorry, to him. Did he deserve them? All he had done was fallen madly in love with a man to which no other could compare. 

Ten O' clock came and Sherlock had dressed himself, just. He knew it was a sign of what was to come. His hands trembled at his collar, trying to know his tie, it wasn't working. His frustration built quickly and he threw the tie to the floor "Fuck." He shouted. Mycroft hurried into the room.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" His faced softened as he saw Sherlock's head draped into his hands helplessly. He picked the tie from the floor "Let me." Carefully, Mycroft threaded the tie through the collar.

"Thank you." Sherlock said shamefully.

"Of course." 

"I mean it, thank you. For everything, I know we have got on, but over these last two days I have learnt more about what it is to be a brother than ever before." Sherlock didn't understand why he was saying it, but it was right.

"We weren't always like this." Mycroft said "When we were younger when Mummy was out and Dad was away, the two of us used to camp out in the drawing room, I used to read to you, you just adored Tolkien." Mycroft had stilled, as if he was silently playing back the memory in his head.

"Why don't I remember?" Sherlock asked.

"Let's not talk about that now." Though he had only just found this connection with his brother, it was strong, and whatever Mycroft meant by that, Sherlock knew he shouldn't speak of it now.

The Holmes brother's stood, deadly still as the car pulled up, they bowed their heads to John and slid in the seats. The drive was agonising, Sherlock didn't know what to do with his own thoughts, there were none. As the pulled up outside the church, people were stood as far back as he could see, all for John, Sherlock knew he would have hated it, having to act modest. He looked out, so many people that John knew. There was those who Sherlock recognised: Mrs Hudson dabbed underneath her glasses, crying quietly, Sally was resting her hand on their landlords back, hushing her, and Anderson, he stood, still and respectful, something about Philip Anderson that Sherlock underestimated, he was a good man at heart. Further along the line of mourners were those Sherlock didn't know: Stray family members that felt obligated to attend, old army friends, students he has spent years in medical school with. All of them were part of John that Sherlock hadn't known, it felt unfair that there were things about John's life that he could no longer find. It hurt to not know.

As he stepped out the car he felt the eyes of the world on him. Sherlock spoke to Harry before they walked in, she cried on his shoulder, agonised sobs of how she could have been a better sister and she wasn't there enough. But Sherlock remained strong. The service began and time slowed, everything was leading to what Sherlock dreaded most, his final goodbye. When the time came, he stood, unsteady on his feet. He turned to face the people who made John's past, each of them holding a memory of his love. When he spoke his voice was weak, and coming apart at the very seams.

"For those of you who know me, you know I don't worry myself with other people's feelings." A faint rumble of respectful laughs rippled over the church "You will know that I am cold hearted, rude, I have no respect for anyone I come into contact with and I have no desire to change that." His voice was riled but softened "And yet, I had the love of the greatest man I have ever known. It makes no sense, but it is so, he loved me, and for that I am the luckiest and most privileged man on earth." Sherlock held strong "I tried to write this so many times, I tried to think of ways to describe John that would show you all how brilliant he was. But there was nothing I could say, every detail of him couldn't be contained in one language. But you've all met him, in different stages in his life, so you know... You know he was the best man that anyone could have the good fortune of meeting." Sherlock paused and breathed back the threatening tears. "Some time ago, I did a stupid thing, a reckless, idiotic thing, that separated John and I for two years, I was fine, of course I was, because I heard what John said to me when he thought I was gone, he told me that he was alone and he owed me so much. But I am standing here, and telling you he was wrong, he may have been alone before he met me, but for him to come in to my life, he saved me from myself. I will never be able to enjoy a film or appreciate art, those are the things that will never change, but because of John, I have evolved, he taught men many things: mostly that severed body parts don't belong in the kitchen, but mainly he taught me how to love. I had never loved before until he showed me just how many forms it could take, and then a fell heard and so completely in love with him I could forget my own name. And so for that he owes me nothing." Sherlock dared to look at the tear-stained faces of John's past "To give your life up for anyone is the most courageous and generous gift anyone can give, but a life as precious and beautiful as John's... Well, it means so much more than the world. So all I can do is respect what he wanted, he wanted me to be happy, I don't think I will ever be whole without John, but I will go as far as my life will take me to make sure John did not die in vain. Through all that I have said and thought over the last two days, I couldn't find one word that could sum up who he was, nothing was big enough. Nothing would say how he cared, but how he fought as well, nothing would say how much he loved and yet how much he thrived on danger. Nothing was right. So there is only one word I can use, a stunning and perfect word, though he would never admit it himself, it is the only word... John."

Sherlock broke, he was broken. Nothing was left of him now, just an empty mind and tears, they fell, in front of everyone. He gripped his arms so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Goodbye, John. To everything you have ever done, thank you. To all the lives you have changed, we are honoured. To being part of me, I love you."

It was over, he had said his final goodbye, the game he had loved so much, it was coming to an end. Was it all worth it?... Sherlock was defiant, it was worth it, he would make it worth it.

The service was over and Sherlock stood back and watched the lines of bowing heads and wiped eyes, he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see the blood shot eyes of the detective inspector.

"Greg." Sherlock uttered. Greg threw his arms round Sherlock's shoulders.

"Never forget how to love, Sherlock, never."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock cried into Lestrade's jacket.

"John taught you well. You can love now Sherlock, not in the same way you loved him, but you can love."

***

"It's been a month." Sherlock said as he settled in front of John's grave. "I miss you." It wasn't enough. "I love you."

Lestrade was right, he could love, and he would. No one would ever mean when John meant, but Sherlock knew who came close. Mycroft was no longer his arch enemy or just someone he had to know, he was his brother, and Sherlock love him. They lived together, because he couldn't face living in the same place where his life had ended. And on those nights, when Sherlock was so overcome by grief that he couldn't breathe, they sat together, and Mycroft read Tolkien to him. Sherlock had found out why he hadn't remembered any of it. Mycroft had called him stupid, just once, but Sherlock hated it, he deleted anything and everything good about Mycroft. But none of that mattered now, they were rebuilding and creating those memories again, together they were an iron force.

"I found the letters, John, I kept them, so if ever I see James Moriarty again, I will tell him he failed, he didn't end me, I can't quite believe it myself, but I am living. He didn't kill you either, you lit fires in so many lives and they will continue to burn brightly, you're living every day in the hearts of so many. So we did it, we won the game. It wasn't easy, there were so many who cheated just to join it, there were those who manipulated the players and some who doubted what the game really meant, but we won." Tears pricked at his eyes, but he smiled "And I cannot think of a better man to share the victory with... John, I-." He froze up "I love you, with all that I am... Lestrade told you I was a great man, he was wrong, he told you that someday I may even be a good one, he was right. I am trying John, I have been helping on the children's ward in St Barts, Molly set it up for me, the children love me, I don't know why, I guess that haven't learnt to say 'piss off' yet. I am trying, so hard to be as good as you were. And when they ask about who I am, I tell them I am no one special, but when they ask why I am there, I tell them about the Doctor I once knew: The Doctor who changed my life in so many ways, they think it's a fairytale. They're right, because every fairytale has a villain, but there is always, always a hero, and that's you, John, you're the hero of my very own story, and I will never forget the ending."

***

_Your game is not over, it's barely beginning..._

**Author's Note:**

> I want to start off by saying I am sorry..
> 
> I got the idea a few weeks back when I was talking to my best friend, Faith, and I just had to do it. I really hope I did it justice. I enjoyed writing it, and I hope on some level you enjoyed reading it.
> 
> I intend to write a few extra little fics of Moriarty's letters to John, so do stay tuned...


End file.
